Hunting Season (26 page)

The sinking feeling in Henry’s stomach agreed. He realized he didn’t have a day at all.

Henry grabbed the rusty bars and shook the cage, trying to loosen or break them free.

“Don’t bother. I’ve already tried that. They won’t budge.”

But Henry kept shaking. Then he punched and kicked the bars. Pieces of rust chipped but none of the bars would give way.

“I told you.”

“Then help me, damn you.”

Ed didn’t. He hugged his knees and looked away. Henry stared at him a moment longer then started kicking the side of the cage again, ignoring the pain rocketing up his thigh.

Air had trouble getting to his lungs. Henry sucked deep breaths and his body wanted him to stop, take a break, but he would not quit. He needed to get to Claire.

*  *  *  *  *

Boy held the knife in front of him as he moved into the cage.

“Move or fight and I’ll cut your titties off.”

The woman sat still, staring at the earth. She breathed but seemed dead.

He took her ankles and tied them together. The woman didn’t move or respond.

The knife cut away her clothes. Still she stared at the ground.

Boy threw the clothes to the side. His eyes traced her naked figure. So pale. So soft. He’d imagined what her body would look like. But his thoughts did her no justice.

How easy it would be, Boy thought. But he pushed the thoughts away. He had to prepare her.

Boy took a bowl of warm oil and soaked a rag in it. He ran the rag over her legs, from the shins up to the top of her thighs. The oil made her skin glisten.

He parted her legs slightly and moved the rag over the inside of her thighs. His eyes focused on the curly hair above her hole. Short and neat. The skin around the hole was pink and looked tender. Boy stiffened in his pants.

The rag moved over the hole. The woman refused to respond. No matter what he touched, she simply stared away.

Boy turned her over and did the back of her legs. Then her ass. Nice and round. Nothing like Sis’s.

The blood swelled his dick so much it ached.

He’d had enough. He set the rag down and started to undo his pants.

She must have heard him because now she moved, trying to roll away.

Boy put the knife to her throat. “Move anymore and I’ll slice.”

*  *  *  *  *

Claire closed her eyes as the punk pressed the blade against her right breast.

“I’ll do this one first. Then the other. Then maybe I’ll push the knife into your hole and open you up from the inside out.”

Tears ran down her temples and into the dirt. She squeezed her eyes, keeping them shut so she wouldn’t have to see. So she wouldn’t have to acknowledge his existence.

She felt his fingers run up the inside of her legs and she coughed on the bile rising into her mouth. He giggled and poked at her lips. Then he pulled at her pubic hair. Then he pinched her clit hard.

Claire blocked out the pain and the icy touch of the bastard. She thought about Henry and their house. She thought about her bedroom. She saw her bed and the warm blankets and soft pillows.

She didn’t feel his touch anymore. In her mind, she climbed into the bed and pulled the covers up to her neck and let the memory of the warmth spill over her. Claire retreated deep and far away, fleeing to the one place she knew she was safe.

*  *  *  *  *

Boy pulled his fingers out of her and sniffed. Dry and musty. A little blood smeared his nails and knuckles. He licked it off and shivered.

He couldn’t resist anymore. Boy spit on his dick and, holding the knife to her throat, pushed it in hard and fast.

Chills ran down his back to his heels. He thrust and thrust, trying to finish fast before Pa caught him.

He had feared she would scream or fight but she did neither. Instead, she stared past him toward the top of the cage, almost like she was dead.

“That’s enough, Boy.”

Boy’s head snapped to the left and saw Pa standing outside the cage, grinning.

“You’ve had your taste. She belongs to Rerutrot, not you. Finish cleaning her and get out of there.”

Boy nodded, surprised Pa didn’t skin him, and pulled out. He went back to work cleaning her up. Once Pa left, he used his free hand to finish himself off on her nice round ass. The woman’s only response was to curl into a ball and stare at nothing.

Chapter Twelve:

Altar of Sacrifice

Nate watched the helicopter lift off and bank left toward Pensacola. All day and a good chunk of the night and still no sign of Henry or Claire. The helo would come back tomorrow but Nate doubted their luck would be any better with the changing of the day. He’d figured the FLIR would pick them up for sure once dark had settled and the temperatures dropped. But it hadn’t and Nate admitted Blackwater might just be too big to find his neighbors with small search parties and one helicopter.

“How you holding up, Nate?”

Nate turned and saw Fred loading the last dog up and securing his trailer. “Tired.”

Fred walked over and pulled a flask from his jacket and took a sip before offering it to Nate. “Bourbon?”

Nate accepted and took a long sip of his own. “Wish we found something.”

“I think if we were gonna, we would have.”

“What do you mean, Fred?”

Fred shrugged. “Two days of searching with dogs, people and a helo and nothing. It’s like those two just walked off the face of the earth.”

Nate took another sip. The burn felt good. “Just say it, Fred.”

“I don’t think we’re going to find them.”

Nate handed the flask back. “That doesn’t mean we’re going to stop looking.”

“I’m just asking you to consider the idea we won’t find them. That means we’ll have to call this search off eventually.”

“You don’t think I know that?”

“Okay, Nate. I’m not trying to fight you on this.”

Nate turned away and headed toward his car. “We’ll start again at seven in the morning.”

*  *  *  *  *

Henry’s head rested against the bars. Both hands clenched iron. Blood ran from his knuckles to his wrists and dripped to the dirt. Rusted splinters poked out of his fingers in dozens of places. Tears fell from his closed eyes.

Still a prisoner. Still unable to save his wife.

The light had yielded to darkness. The table sat empty. The torches ringing it stood unlit. The feral clan dwelled somewhere out of sight.

Ed sat in his corner, quiet. He hadn’t tried to help Henry. Maybe the two of them, together, could have moved a bar or two free. But Ed had refused to help Henry. Ed had given up.

Henry cursed Ed. He cursed these inbred primitives. He cursed the damn deer which led to all of this. He cursed the world and cried some more.

Then the daughter walked into the center and lit the torches.

Henry squeezed the bars and watched. Ed had moved to his side again.

The torches cast everything in shades of flickering orange and yellow. The daughter stood a few feet in front of the table. Pa, Boy, and Hog were nowhere to be seen.

Then Claire appeared. Hog and Boy walked at her sides. Henry’s fingernails dug into rust. More splinters punctured his flesh.

They had stripped Claire of all her clothes. Henry willed her to fight them, to kick and scream and tear at their eyes. But a kind of placid indifference resided on her face. Her eyes were vacant of emotion. Henry wondered if they’d drugged her. Or if she’d given up, like Ed, and accepted whatever fate these people dealt her.

“Let her go,” Henry screamed. “Take me.”

The daughter turned her head. The flickering light of the torches made her appear like she stood in the flames of Hell.

“Rerutrot doesn’t want you.” She spat at the ground in Henry’s direction. “Only worms want your skin.”

Boy and Hog stopped Claire in front of the table. They bent her over so her chest rested on the surface and passed leather straps across her back and secured her to the—

“Altar,” Henry said and thought of the skulls. “Dear God, it’s an altar.”

Boy moved away from Claire and took a place at the daughter’s side while Hog remained next to the altar.

“I’m going to kill every fucking one of you if you hurt her.” Henry shook the cage. “Do you hear ME? EVERY FUCKING ONE OF YOU!”

The children ignored him.

“Claire!” Henry kicked at the bars. “Fight them, Claire. Don’t give up.”

Claire didn’t respond.

A tall figure wearing white robes and a hood over his head emerged into Henry’s sight. He stopped kicking.

The figure removed the hood, revealing Pa, his face painted red with blood. Hog presented a large knife with a blade carved from the jaw bone of an animal to his father. Pa took the knife and Hog walked away from the altar and took his place on the other side of his sister.

Henry’s heart tried to beat a hole out of his chest. His eyes widened and sweat poured from his skin despite the cold of night.

Pa moved behind Claire.

The children started chanting, “Rerutrot. Rerutrot.”

“Rerutrot,” Pa said. “We make sacrifice to you on the anniversary of your death and pray it may pave a road to your Rebirth.”

“Rerutrot. Rerutrot.”

The temperature dropped fast. Henry didn’t let go of the bars even though his whole body started to shake from the onslaught of cold. Then he felt something else, like a blade carved from ice cutting through his insides.

Pa held the knife in the air. “Rerutrot. Faceless Nomad. Eternal Wanderer. This knife, a symbol of your Great Knife which still calls to be rediscovered, offers you the blood of this woman as proof of our undying loyalty.”

“Rerutrot! Rerutrot!”

The cold pain inside him grew worse. Henry heard Ed groaning next to him and saw him clutch his stomach.

Pa grabbed Claire by the hair with his left hand and pulled her head up and moved the edge of the knife against the back of her neck.

“The flesh and blood make us strong and keep us warm. Let this woman be the mother of your Rebirth.”

“NO!” Henry yelled.

His cry fell on deaf ears. In one quick movement, Pa sliced the knife through Claire’s neck.

“RERUTROT! RERUTROT!”

“I’m going to fucking kill you all!” Tears blurred Henry’s vision but he still forced himself to watch.

Ed retched and puked next to Henry.

Pa held Claire’s severed head above his, letting the blood fall onto his bald head and down his white robe.

“RERUTROT! RERUTROT!”

“Do you hear me?” Henry kicked the cage again. “All of you.”

Pa walked with Claire’s head held high to the statue of Rerutrot, the Faceless Nomad. He placed it at its feet, then backed away and prostrated before it.

Henry wanted to shout more but the cold pain had spread to every part of his body. He bit down on the insides of his mouth. His fists curled into arthritic balls.

Pa rose and spread his arms out to his sides as if waiting for the statue to embrace him.

“Be REBORN!”

A hard wind swept through the camp but the torches remained lit. Henry looked at the statue and saw its smooth face flickering with light. He blinked but the sight remained. Then the light moved and contorted, as if taking a shape. He tried to keep his eyes open, to watch what happened next, but the pain was too much.

Then the cold fled. The wind died and the pain retreated. Henry opened his eyes and saw the statue’s smooth face had returned. Whatever was happening, whatever apparition he’d seen, was gone.

“It’s never been that strong,” Pa said. “Rerutrot was so close.” “Maybe he wants more blood.” Pa’s head turned swiftly on his son. “Yes. Yes, that’s it. Rerutrot needs a father and mother.” Pa pivoted and fixed his eyes on Henry. “Bring me the husband.”

Chapter Thirteen:

Trucido

Boy turned and headed for the cage while his other siblings continued their chant. Henry backed away from the side of the cage. Ed still bent over, launching the contents of his stomach all over the ground.

Boy arrived at the door to the cage. He pulled out his knife then opened the door.

Henry stood next to the hunched over Ed. Boy lingered in the doorway, staring at Henry, knife at his side.

“Do it,” Henry said. “You little shit.”

Boy rushed at Henry.

Henry readied for the blow. Before he could take it, Ed jumped in front of him as Boy thrust the knife forward. The blade pierced Ed’s stomach, sinking to the hilt.

Ed screamed and clenched his stomach around the knife. Boy’s eyes widened as he tried to pull the blade out.

Henry threw a right jab to Boy’s face. The blow knocked him backwards a few feet. Boy’s hand lost its grip on the knife. Henry reached around Ed and pulled the knife out.

Ed screamed again.

Henry lowered him to the ground and said, “Thank you.”

Boy had regained his bearings and rushed toward Henry again. Henry kicked Boy hard in the chest and could feel the air forced out of him. Boy tumbled over one of Ed’s legs, landing with a thud on his back.

Henry pounced on Boy, dropping both knees on his thin chest. Boy looked up at him, trying to suck air, as Henry slammed the blade through his throat. It pierced straight through and into the floor.

Satisfaction, not remorse, surged through Henry’s hands. He didn’t sit and enjoy it, though.

He heard the rest of the clan running toward the cage. The knife slid out of Boy’s neck easily. The cold pain returned, slicing at Henry’s insides.

Henry made it through the cage door, biting back the pain, before the first of the clan got there. Pa led the way, his old sword held high, a primal scream ascending from his throat. Henry caught him in his peripheral vision and dove as the sword plummeted down toward his head.

Pa sliced nothing but air.

Henry rolled and rose to his knees, spun around and stabbed blindly. The blade found a home right above Pa’s knee. The old man yelped.

Henry went to pull it out and stab again but the daughter ran into him at full speed and knocked him to the ground.

The sword fell from Pa’s hand as he grabbed the knife and attempted to free it from his leg.